


Just like a pill

by zjemciciastko



Category: Motorcycling RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, Jorge is still a rider, M/M, Valentino is a doctor, injuries, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 10:07:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19423780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zjemciciastko/pseuds/zjemciciastko
Summary: “Marc is a qualified professional, he knows what he’s doing,” Valentino tries, but Jorge simply folds his arms in front of his chest.“No,” he says. “I’ll deal without the shot, then.”His word is final. He won’t let them change his mind.Valentino nods at the nurse, who nods back at him. A few seconds later, there’s only him and Jorge left in the room, this Marc guy having gone to who-knows-where, and Jorge grabs his jacket, preparing to put it on. He has the left sleeve halfway on his arm already, when Valentino turns to face him, yellow gloves on his hands and a syringe full of some liquid held in them.“Okay, then. I’ll do it,” Valentino says, shaking the bottle of antiseptic. “Please lay down on the couch with your buttock exposed.”That is a development Jorge didn’t foresee.Jorge flushes, because his unwillingness to get treated aside, he does consider Valentino attractive. It’s one thing to walk around without a shirt; it’s an entirely different thing to have his ass naked in the company of a handsome man, even if said man must’ve seen tons of naked asses in his life.





	Just like a pill

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jorgelorenzo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jorgelorenzo/gifts), [sxpreme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sxpreme/gifts).



> I'm not good at dedications, which is probably a bad thing to say as a writer, but this one goes to two people: sxpreme and Jazz because we've talked about Vale and Jorge before and because it's nearly a miracle finding someone else who ships them and therefore you brins me a lot of joy. And, of course, because you're awesome and I'm very happy that I got meet you! I hope you enjoy this fic, all my love goes to you <3 
> 
> Also, this fic was in my drafts for three months. I started it right after the Qatar race, but Jorge keeps on injuring himself and Valentino isn't exactly having the best time of his life lately either, so that was the push I needed to finish writing it. It's long overdue, but I hope you can enjoy it anyway.

Jorge taps his foot on the ground, not caring that he might come off as rude. He’s here against his will, he was forced to come here, and he’s not shy about making it known. The doctor’s pretty face isn´t stopping him. 

The next time he sees Alberto though, Jorge will make sure to have a few words with the manager. He doesn’t like being forced to do anything, doctor’s appointments not being an exception. It hasn’t even been ten minutes since Jorge arrived at the clinic, and he’s already dreaming of being back at home. 

“I’m fine,” Jorge insists again, rolling his eyes when the doctor rises an eyebrow doubtfully. 

The crash wasn’t even that bad, and he needs to have a talk with Honda about unnecessary doctor visits. He appreciates the concern, really, but when he’s saying he’s fine, it’s means he’s fine.

Doctor Rossi doesn’t seem convinced.

He gives Jorge a once-over, his eyes stopping a little longer on Jorge’s left hand, where the still fresh scar is. Jorge almost hides it in the pocket of his jacket, but refrains from doing so in the last moment. 

“Can I at least give you a check-up? You might not be feeling that much pain, but I want to be sure it really isn’t anything serious,” the doctor says, noting something down.

Jorge sighs. He knows the team won’t let him live it down if he refuses, and he’s not in the mood for any kind of moralising speeches. “Okay, whatever.”

Reluctantly, Jorge takes the jacket off, then removing the shirt and trying not to wince with every movement. He throws both pieces of clothing on the chair, gritting his teeth when he takes a too strong swing. The arm is the smallest of his problems, but he couldn’t say it doesn’t bother him at all. He tells doctor Rossi none of those things, though, as he stands up straight, feeling oddly self-conscious under the doctor’s scrutinizing stare.

“Please, move your arms away from your body,” Rossi says, and Jorge does as he’s been told. He stands like that for a moment, knowing exactly how those rib examinations work, having had many in the past. 

There are cold fingertips on his ribs, following the patterns the bruises have formed on his skin. It tickles, and Jorge holds his breath, not wanting to start laughing. He’s always been ticklish, more than a regular person, but that’s not exactly something he wants to be widely known. 

Then, thr doctor presses on a particularly sensitive spot, and Jorge cannot stop the wince. 

“Does it hurt more than the other spots?”

Rossi’s fingers are gone in an instant, a concerned look making its way onto his face. He has his hand on Jorge’s shoulder in what probably was supposed to be a comforting matter, but feels much heavier than it should. 

Jorge grits his teeth. “I’ll live.”

He shouldn’t have agreed to having come here in the first place, he thinks. He could’ve just stayed at home, train a little less, and be good as new three days later. 

“So it does,” doctor Rossi mutters, frowning. 

He carries on with the examination, but his touches are lighter now, more like caresses than anything else. Jorge would’ve preferred if they had stayed painful, because this thing now is a little too close to being too pleasant, and he has to force those memories of the last person touching him like that, so gently, away. 

He clearly hasn’t dated anyone in too long.

“Can I go home now?” Jorge asks a minute later, his hands clenched into fights, and still barely daring to breathe. He knows he’s acting obnoxious now, but he needs to go home before he becomes all brooding and sentimental in front of a man he’s known for a whole of fifteen minutes. He needs to save whatever dignity he still has left. 

“Just a moment,” comes the answer. “Take a deep breath now.”

Jorge follows the command, the pain exploding in his chest the second he takes an inhale. His arm moves to hold his side automatically, and he bites on his tongue not to let that groan trying to escape his throat out. It feels awful, like shit, and it’s rather ironic that of all the things Jorge could be bad at, currently it’s breathing. 

When he looks up, doctor Rossi is frowning again, a few horizontal lines having formed on his forehead. 

“We need to do a CT scan,” he says, and it sounds like he won’t take no for an answer. 

Jorge tries either way, attempting a pleasant smile but suspecting it’s more of a grimace than anything else. “Doctor, please. I don’t have time for that.” 

It’s a lie, as he has no plans for the afternoon, but there’s nothing more he’s longing more for than being back at home, where he can bury himself under the blanket and hope the pain goes away on its own. 

The doctor takes a step back, looking Jorge up and down again. “Just Vale is fine. And you’re still getting the scan.” 

Even the hand, reassuringly placed on his shoulder, isn’t able to lift Jorge’s dampened mood. 

*

“I’ve had worse,” Jorge says half an hour later, after Valentino has informed him about the fractured rib.

He crosses his legs at the knees, and leans further back on the chair. It’s not his first fractured rib, and he’s had injuries much more serious than this one. Racing with two broken ankles and immediately after a collarbone surgery has hardened him against pain. The rib is hardly a big deal. 

That’s what he wants to tell Valentino, before the man averts his eyes from the scan of Jorge’s shoulder and speaks first. 

“Oh, I believe you.” It really sounds like Valentino does. “But I also know that a fractured rib hurts, so I’ll prescribe you something to help with it. I’ll go get the nurse, okay?”

By the end of that sentence, he’s already out the door, his steps echoing against the floor, while Jorge contemplates grabbing his things and evaporating from the office in the most inconspicuous way. He wouldn’t be successful, there are CCTVs installed in the corridor, but still. A man can dream. 

Less than five minutes later, Valentino comes back, a young, very loud guy trailing behind him. The new man has the scrubs on, glaringly orange compared to Valentino’s dark blue, but only when he beings to pull the latex gloves on, it hits Jorge that this is actually his _nurse._

Jorge shakes his head. “I’m not letting him come near me with a needle.”

The kid looks barely old enough to be a nurse and he’s definitely way too bouncy for Jorge’s liking. Even when he’s just standing there, the guy is moving the whole time, shifting weight from one foot to the other, looking around the room and grinning. Jorge doesn’t trust that too bright smile.

“Marc is a qualified professional, he knows what he’s doing,” Valentino tries, but Jorge simply folds his arms in front of his chest.

“No,” he says. “I’ll deal without the shot, then.”

His word is final. He won’t let them change his mind. 

Valentino nods at the nurse, who nods back at him. A few seconds later, there’s only him and Jorge left in the room, this Marc guy having gone to who-knows-where, and Jorge grabs his jacket, preparing to put it on. He has the left sleeve halfway on his arm already, when Valentino turns to face him, yellow gloves on his hands and a syringe full of some liquid held in them. 

“Okay, then. I’ll do it,” Valentino says, shaking the bottle of antiseptic. “Please lay down on the couch with your buttock exposed.”

That is a development Jorge didn’t foresee. 

Jorge flushes, because his unwillingness to get treated aside, he does consider Valentino attractive. It’s one thing to walk around without a shirt; it’s an entirely different thing to have his ass naked in the company of a handsome man, even if said man must’ve seen tons of naked asses in his life. 

He opens the button of his jeans and then fights with the fly that seems to have gotten stuck. He pulls on it once, twice, before finally succeeding, and he pulls his pants and underwear down. Then, he lays down on the couch, like Valentino ordered him to, and hides his face in his hands, hoping the other man hasn’t noticed the redness on his cheeks. 

The couch sinks in a little under another person’s weight, but Jorge doesn’t need that to know that Valentino is sat next to him now.

“Try to relax, okay? I’ll be gentle.”

Jorge almost snorts because he doesn’t need gentle. He’s had his fair share of injuries and he’s been through a lot of pain, so having a needle stuck in his ass is not something he’s impressed by at all.

True to his word, Valentino cleans a part of Jorge’s buttock gently, rubbing the gauze against the skin. Jorge wishes it would be over already, and he must be really starved of any kind of affection if he considers the preparation for an injection a pleasant touch. He takes a deep breath, hiding his face further in his arms. His cheeks are still burning up. 

There’s a small pinch that catches Jorge by surprise, and he hisses, more from that than from the actual pain.

Valentino’s gloved hand is on Jorge’s side instantly, rubbing little circles there. “Just a little longer, it’s okay.”

If Jorge could get any more embarrassed, he would. But he can’t, it probably isn’t physically possible to be more embarrassed than he is now, so he resists the urge to make a facepalm and thus an even bigger fool out of himself. “It’s fine, doesn’t really hurt.”

Some seconds later Valentino presses a cotton pad to where the needle pierced Jorge’s skin. “All done.”

Jorge dresses up in silence, buttoning his jeans proving to be a difficult task with slightly shaky hands, while Valentino types something on the keyboard. He glances towards the door, wondering if he’s finally free to go wallow in his misery of having a very sudden crush on his new doctor in the safety of his own house. 

He’s already made the first step, when Valentino grabs something from the printer and stretches an arm with what Jorge realizes is a prescription. 

“Here’s something to ease the pain.” Valentino puts a hand on Jorge shoulder in an reassuring gesture, again. “You should feel better after the injection, but the fracture will take around three or four weeks to heal. I’d like you to come over for a check-up at the end of the month, alright?” 

Before Jorge can even think about, he finds himself nodding. “Sure, I’ll do it.” 

“Rest as much as you can and get back to health quickly,” Valentino orders. “If there’s any problem, if you feel worse or anything like that, call me.” 

He pushes a business card into Jorge’s palm, smiling at him softly, and Jorge suspects it might not be anything else but his heart that he’ll be having problems with. 

*

Nearly three weeks later, Jorge is sitting on the couch in Valentino’s office again. 

“I didn’t think you’d show up, to be honest,” Valentino says, rearranging the stethoscope around his neck. 

Jorge didn’t think he’d show up, either. He planned to tell the team that he had the check-up done, everything fine, and then go on with his life, without looking back. But, and that’s something Jorge is only willing to admit to himself, he actually _was_ looking forward to seeing Valentino again. Just a little. 

So here he is, squirming and trying to look less awkward than he feels. 

“I have a race in a few days, I need to be fully fit,” Jorge says in explanation, hoping he sounds convincing. It’s not even like he’s lying; it’s just that it’s not the whole truth about his real motivation. 

Valentino hums, accepting the excuse. He moves, standing in front of Jorge now, towering over him even more than usually. Jorge gets up hastily and nearly tripping, feeling uncomfortable being looked down at, even if only in the literal sense.

“I hope you took my recommendations seriously and rested a lot,” Valentino more states than asks, a little warning hidden in there. “Please undress.” 

Jorge bites on his lip. Well, he took more rest than he’d have taken had he been healthy, so there’s that, but he suspects his and Valentino’s definitions of a lot may vary.

He pulls the t-shirt off, his movements no longer as painful as they used to be three weeks ago, and throws it on the couch. The bruises have faded already, and the stiffness in his muscles is a result of Valentino’s presence rather than the lingering pain, which is mild at best. 

Standing up straighter, Jorge prepares for what’s coming next. “The usual?”

Valentino rises an eyebrow. “I wonder how many ribs you’ve fractured that you consider this the usual.” 

Without waiting for the answer, he begins the examination, the fingers feeling familiar on Jorge’s chest. 

Just like the last time, Jorge has to stop himself from giggling. He’s learnt it the painful way that fractured ribs and laughing don’t go together, so he does everything in his power to stay still and silent. Valentino’s touches are as gentle as before, only now that the swelling went down and the bruises healed, Jorge’s finding them far too enjoyable. He’s come to terms with the fact that he probably should get laid soon, if things like that are affecting him so much, but he can’t help it that the person he’d like to get in bed with is Valentino. 

“Hurts?”

“Not much,” Jorge grumbles, coming back to reality. 

Valentino pauses with his hands still on Jorge’s chest. “Do you hate all the doctors or am I that special?” 

The hands are even more distracting now that they’re just resting on his body and not performing the examinations, Jorge thinks. Unlike the last time, they’re pleasantly warm, and it’s not good, not good at all that he’s feeling his cheeks getting a little hotter. 

“You’re nothing special,” Jorge blurts out, before realising how harsh it sounds.

He pulls the t-shirt down his chest and hopes to leave as fast as he can, cursing his ability to say the wrong thing any given time. It’s probably his last visit here, too; he won’t be able to show up on his own after that, unless he’s being forced to. 

Surprisingly, Valentino takes it in good humour. “Thanks, you sure know how to stroke a man’s ego,” he laughs, seemingly not bothered by the comment. “And since you’ve been such a good patient, you get a free scan as a prize.”

Jorge scowls. “Seriously?”

On one hand, he’s relieved that Valentino didn’t take any offence, because Jorge meant none. On the other, he suspects the scan might not be that necessary, more likely something to annoy him a little. By now, Valentino must be perfectly aware of how Jorge hates any kind of medical procedures. 

“Yes, seriously,” Valentino repeats, pushing Jorge on the back lightly. “Go now.”

So Jorge goes and returns some minutes later, giving Valentino a look when the man smiles him in what is definitely not an innocent manner.

“Had fun?” Valentino asks, not lifting his eyes from Jorge’s newest scan. 

“Sure,” Jorge says sarcastically as he sits down again. “Lots of.”

There’s a moment of silence when neither of them says anything, too focused on something else. During the next minute or two, Jorge’s alternating between glancing at the scan he can’t see much on and Valentino. More of the latter than the former, if he had to be honest with himself. It’s a full on crush he’s sporting, and that’s no good, that’s never good, because Jorge knows himself well enough to be aware that when he falls, he falls _hard._

His little bubble is broken when Valentino puts the scan back on his desk, effectively getting Jorge’s attention back on himself. 

Valentino grins, the little wrinkles showing around his eyes showing up. “You’re good. You don’t have to see me anymore.”

Jorge squashes the disappointment at hearing the news, only partly successful. 

He’s heathy, that’s always a good news, but that also means he no longer has an excuse to come here, and he doesn’t know when it happened, but Jorge certainly would like to have that excuse on him. Now, he can’t justify any future visit he’d have possibly planned otherwise. 

“I hope I don’t have to see you here ever again,” Valentino says good-naturedly as they shake hands, Jorge’s a bit more sweaty and warmer than usually. 

Jorge forces out a weak smile. “Thanks for everything.”

The smile Valentino sends him back has Jorge’s chest feeling tight, and he’s pretty sure that this time, it’s not because of his broken rib. 

*

It doesn’t take much time for Jorge to return to Valentino’s office. 

He sits down on the couch without needing to be invited to. It’s becoming a routine, him getting injured, Honda forcing him to make an appointment, Valentino smiling at him in a way that forces Jorge’s heart to skip a beat, and all the medical stuff that somehow is less unpleasant lately than it used to be if it’s Valentino who gets to perform it on him. 

“What brings you to me today?” Valentino asks.

He stretches his arms and smiles in a way that has Jorge’s mouth dry. His hair is longer, more curly than the last time and his coat is open, revealing a rather tight-fitting t-shirt that doesn’t escape Jorge’s attention. 

(It’s not like Jorge has to stop himself from imagining what’s beneath that t-shirt.)

Jorge clears his throat and points to the middle of his chest, where the pain is the worst. “I crashed on the bike, my neck and chest hurt. It looks like broken vertebrae, that’s what they said back in the Netherlands,” he says. 

He’d rather talk about the injury and not let his thoughts go to places they shouldn’t. 

In an instant, Valentino is next to him, the playful expression that was on his face gone and exchanged for worry. “How did it happen? Do you have any other symptoms?” he asks, the mini flashlight he’s holding blinding Jorge for a second. “Nausea, vomiting?” 

“I don’t know, I don’t remember it all that well,” Jorge responds.

He remembers his confusion, the marshalls swarming around him like bees, their loud voices further worsening the pain. The moment of the crash is a white spot in his memory, and if not for the recorded video, he couldn’t tell what happened and why. 

Valentino’s eyes are wide, and Jorge has to remind himself that it’s just a doctor’s concern for his patient, nothing else. 

“God, it’s bad,” Valentino says, holding Jorge by the chin gently. He’s hidden the flashlight and his eyes are wandering over Jorge’s face and chest, possibly looking for any additional wounds, close enough for Jorge to smell his cologne. 

Jorge shrugs, trying to downplay the injury. “I’ll live.” 

If not for the fact that the local hospital couldn’t get him the MRI, he wouldn’t have come here in the first place. That and the fact that it’s Valentino Jorge knew he’d get treated by. Were it any other person, his feet wouldn’t have crossed the entrance to the building. 

Valentino’s brows furrow as he pulls on Jorge’s shirt, uncovering the bruises splatter all over Jorge’s back. “When did it happen?”

“On Friday,” Jorge admits, unwillingly. 

He’s still feeling a little dizzy at times, the world moving in front of his eyes even though he knows well he’s stationery, but the pain sometimes is simply too strong. He’s been through worse, it’ll all pass, but the passing part could’ve been a little less annoying, if he had a say in it. 

“Jorge, what the fuck?” Valentino hisses. There’s a scowl on his face, looking foreign as a replacement of the usual playful smile, and for the first time since they met, Jorge feels uneasy. “You should have come here straight away, this is really serious, don’t you know?!”

Jorge swats his hand away, his blood beginning to boil. If there’s one thing he hates, it’s being scolded, and he most definitely doesn’t need a lecture on what he should’ve done and shouldn’t. 

“I couldn’t get here earlier, I caught the plane today in the morning. And I told you, I’m fine,” he snaps, pushing himself up from the couch.

Valentino pushes him back on it, pressing his hand on Jorge’s shoulder with enough force to succeed but not enough to make it painful in any way. 

“You’re not fine, you have a serious injury,” he says, disbelief in his voice. “It could’ve ended badly, for fuck’s sake. Are you going to listen me or not?”

He’s leaned closer, probably thinking his words would have more impact if he said them straight to Jorge’s face. It’s clear he’s furious, the lips pulled tightly together and scrunched eyebrows only add to the anger present in his voice. Their faces are so close to each other that Jorge could point each of the frown lines. 

Jorge feels his face getting hot from embarrassment. It’s not only Valentino’s words, though Jorge does feel like a child being scolded, but also the fact that there’s barely any space left between them. He shies away from Valentino’s glare, eyes stubbornly stuck on the floor, as Valentino doesn’t seem to know the concept of personal space and Jorge’s always been rather awkward about the matter. He never knows what is appropriate and what isn’t, and he’s well aware that those comments about him being socially awkward weren’t baseless. 

Valentino pulls back with a sigh. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that,” he apologizes, and Jorge looks up in surprise. “I’m just worried. Please, let me help you.”

Valentino’s gaze is softer now, the harshness had evaporated somewhere, and Jorge has to gulp to swallow all the feelings bubbling in his chest. 

The change in atmosphere is palpable; Jorge needs to do _something_ before he does _something stupid,_ because in that moment, he doesn’t fully trust himself not to.

Jorge smirks, hoping it’ll be enough of a distraction from all that sudden seriousness. “Why do you care? Am I your favourite or something?”

It’s a joke, just some light teasing he wishes would be enough to lower down the intensity of everything that has happened between them in the past minutes. Something to get them back on the right track, if they’ve ever been on one. 

“I’m not allowed to have favourites, all patients are equal,” Valentino says, but he’s smiling now, and Jorge is a little proud of himself for being the reason for that.

He allows Valentino to examine his injuries thoroughly, hissing at times and at the same time enjoying the gentle touches if they happen to reach a spot that’s less sore than the others. “If you could have favourites though, would it be me?”

He’s threading on thin ice there, Jorge knows, but he can’t help but enjoy the teasing just a little longer. 

The answer comes with a grin that’s bordering on a smirk as Valentino lets Jorge’s shirt fall down, ending the examination. “Probably. I see you so often, after all.” He winks, and Jorge feels his cheeks grow hotter. “Now, off for a scan you go.”

The scans are almost a routine by now, and Jorge groans at the thought of another one. Marc, leading Jorge to the room where the MRI is located, is even more smiley than usual; Jorge can’t help but be suspicious. That kid is way too cheerful for his liking. 

“What?” Jorge finally asks, annoyed, when the nurse can’t hold the giggling in anymore. 

“Nothing, nothing,” Marc assures, keeping a hand over his mouth. “Vale must really like you, he rarely spends that much time with his patients.”

Jorge isn’t sure if he’s defending Valentino or himself, but the words are out of his mouth before his brain catches up. “I’m sure he gives each of his patients as much time as they need.”

Marc doesn’t respond, but he keeps on smiling in the same suspicious way. Jorge tries to ignore him, but the seed has already been planted in his mind, so during those forty minutes or so that he spends in that giant magnet, the only thing he can focus on is whether there is some truth to Marc’s words or not. 

Once out, he goes back to Valentino’s office, more confused than ever. He hesitates before knocking on the door, taking a deep breath that provokes a new wave of pain. Maybe it’s for the better, maybe it’ll shift his focus to a different direction, no the man he’s grown to be too fond of. 

Jorge sighs. He can’t keep on falling for everyone who’s even remotely nice to him.

*

It’s already after the season when Jorge sees Valentino again, in the hospital where he’s supposed to get the metal plate removed from his hand.

Valentino goes on and on about how the surgery is supposed to look like, and even though Jorge knows the procedure by heart, he doesn’t interrupt. He adjusts the pillow under his head, careful not to damage the IV catheter that Marc inserted into his vein earlier, and listens to Valentino describing each step of the treatment he’ll undergo. He isn’t nervous, not anymore after all the surgeries he’s had to go through, but he allows Valentino’s voice to soothe into almost sleep. 

“Do you have any questions?” Valentino asks as he sits down on Jorge’s hospital bed.

Jorge shakes his head, glancing at Valentino, how close they are. He is tempted to move his arm and clasp their hands together, he’s been tempted to do that for a while as his crush has only grown, and the opportunity seems almost too good to pass on. 

It doesn’t lead to anything, as Valentino stands up again before Jorge can do anything. It feels like a lost chance, and Jorge probably should be glad for it, because he’s sure flirting with his doctor right before a surgery isn’t the best idea he’s ever had, but still. The longing is there. 

“Shouldn’t you say something like ‘I’ll be there for you the whole time’?” Jorgea says to ease the tension he’s certain he’s the only one experiencing. 

“I’ll be there with you the whole time,” Valentino tells him, but it sounds only half-joking, half-something Jorge can’t quite place.

Jorge nods, unable to think of any witty remark on the spot. Paired with Valentino’s hand that stays on his back far longer than necessary, the words leave a weird weight in his stomach that he can’t shake off until the anaesthetics begin to work their magic. 

*

A few hours later, Jorge wakes up from the anaesthesia, the lights way too bright for his liking.

He sits up in the hospital bed, pressing fingers to his temples. His head is still spinning a little from all the meds they have pumped into in his body, and he needs a moment to realises that he’s back in the regular room, his left hand dressed in bandages after the surgery.

Jorge blinks a few times to clear his vision, and Valentino’s smile greets him warmly. “How are you?”

“Fine,” Jorge says, because he certainly has been through worse. The hand hurts a little bit, but it’s nothing unbearable, and the thing that’s annoying him the most is being stuck in the hospital bed, not the surgery itself. 

Valentino smiles, satisfied with the answer. “I’m glad. Everything went well, I think you could go home tomorrow.” 

“You’re supposed to be the best doctor here, I’d file a complaint, if it hadn’t gone well,” Jorge tells him, smiling himself at seeing Valentino’s amusement. He’s still light-headed, not getting what is going on around him fully, but he couldn’t deny that the reaction has made him happy. “But to be honest, now I need to go to the bathroom, if you don’t want to have to clean those sheets very soon.” 

“Are you sure you feel good enough to walk on your own?” Valentino asks, visibly concerned. “Do you need any help?”

Jorge furrows his eyebrows, trying to stop Valentino from spinning in circles. “I’m fine. I had a hand surgery, my legs are fine.”

He throws the blanket aside and pushes himself up using the good arm. He may not be in his best shape yet, but he sure as hell isn’t bedridden, either; there’s no way he’s pissing in the urinal bottle unless there’s absolutely no other option available.

What he doesn’t foresee is that wobble that happens the moment Jorge puts his feet on the ground, and within a second, he’s certain that he’s going to lose balance. He prepares for the impact, his arms instinctively stretching his arms out to cushion the fall, but it surprisingly, it doesn’t come. Valentino’s arm is wrapped around Jorge’s waist immediately, holding him firmly in place. 

“Not so fine, are you? Be more careful, please,” Valentino says, sighing while trying to keep Jorge on his feet. 

Jorge frowns, staring at him. Valentino’s face is close, and Jorge’s brain might be hazy, but it still surprises him that he’s never noticed how bright Valentino’s eyes are or that his lips look so soft. He isn’t thinking much when he makes his next move, this one urge covering his rational thoughts when he cranes his neck before pressing their lips together.

And now, with an addition to spinning from the meds, Jorge’s head is also spinning from that kiss. He stands on his tiptoes, because Valentino looks so nice and smells so nice and is so warm, too, but hat must’ve been a little bit too much, because that’s when everything around Jorge gets much more quiet and his vision goes black. 

*

When Jorge opens his eyes again, everything is so bright that for a second he thinks he might’ve finally died from shame, before he realises it’s just the ceiling lamp. 

*

They speak nothing of the incident, both because they don’t see much of each other during those twenty-four hour Jorge is required to stay at the hospital after the surgery, and because of the awkwardness any kind of conversation would undoubtedly be tinted with. 

The time for another meeting comes when Jorge is supposed to get rid of the stiches laced neatly on his hand, the wound underneath them mostly healed by the ten days mark. 

When he arrives at the place, Jorge nods at Marc, who tells him that Valentino is already waiting at the office, and tugs at the ends of the his bandage before finally coming in. 

Valentino sits at his desk, typing something on the computer, fully absorbed in whatever it is that he’s doing. Jorge stands by the door, not sure if he should make himself comfortable or if it’s a better idea to wait until he gets noticed. 

“Hey,” he says in in the end, making his presence knows. 

Valentino looks up from the papers he has spread all over the desk. “Ah, ciao. How are you today?” 

They move onto that couch that Jorge knows nearly just as well as the one he has in his house, and sit down, their knees touching at times. Jorge doesn’t have the time to protest before Valentino’s hands are unwrapping the bandage gently, pulling each layer away with care not to inflict any additional injuries. It must be pretty obvious that it’s affecting Jorge more than it should, but if Valentino noticed, he hasn’t said a word so far.

“It looks pretty good,” Valentino comments when Jorge’s hand is fully on display. 

Jorge bites on the inside of his cheek not let any comments of how it’s Valentino himself looking good out. Instead, he tries to ignore Valentino’s fingertips moving over his scar as much as he can, cringing a little when he feels the pull he recognizes as stiches being taken out. 

“Good,” is all Jorge can manage, not knowing what else would be appropriate. Appropriate is not something he’s ever been particularly good at. 

“You’ll be good as new in no time,” Valentino reassures, all of his attention still on the task at hand. “I hope you won’t get to be my patient again anytime soon.”

Ah, so the topic appears.

Jorge is glad it isn’t him to bring it up, although it is something that has been on his mind for a while now. While recovering from the injury, he’s had a lot of time to think and to ponder all the possibilities, finally deciding on the one that seemed the best option. 

He bites on his bottom lip, mentally preparing for the conversation. 

“Actually, the team decided to hire a full-time doctor,” Jorge mentions, trying to sound as matter-of-factly as he can manage.

The reply is the in no time, but Jorge’s heart has managed to speed up its rhythm considerably either way, and he can only hope for his hand not to be as sweaty as he’s afraid it might be.

Valentino glances up from pulling one of the stiches out, before looking down again. “That’s good. I’ll have someone looking after you, finally.”

“I recommended you,” Jorge says before he can chicken out. “ You can even take the small bastard with you, if you want. And you don’t need to tell me your answer now, obviously, but please, think about it.” 

This time, Valentino’s surprise is not hidden in any way. “You want me to be your personal doctor?”

Jorge nods, the tips of his ears burning. He’s rehearsed this conversation before, feeling like an idiot when he was talking to his own reflection, but it didn’t help much. What happened in the hospital is still stuck in his mind, and his crush hasn’t diminished in any way, so he can only hope that Valentino says yes, because the rejection will hurt like a bitch. 

“You’re the best doctor I know,” Jorge says, meaning every word. He flushes, a little embarrassed both by his own request, but mostly by the memories of happened after that surgery. “I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable back in the hospital, I promise it won’t happen again.” 

“It’s okay, you were still under the influence of the meds. I understand,” Valentino brushes it off as if it were nothing; Jorge can’t help noticing that it isn’t all that, that the carefreeness is a little force. “I could keep an eye on you that way, I guess. And Marc would love that, he’s a huge fan of bikes.”

Jorge gulps, the joy at hearing yes trying to break free, but he knows it’s premature. He’s well aware that before any kind of celebrations occur, he has to say it, he has to tell the whole truth or all he won’t have a peace of mind. 

He forces his head upwards and catches Valentino’s eyes, wide open and questioning, before gathering all of his courage and speaking up. “It wasn’t the meds, though. Not only.” 

He waits for Valentino’s reaction, cursing the fact that Valentino is still holding his hand. It’s too easy to see that it’s shaking this way, clearly obvious, all of Jorge’s reactions visible there. It’s the laughter that catches him off guard, Valentino’s head falling backwards and his shoulders shaking with amusement, and Jorge watches on for a moment, not understanding.

The shame begins to spread through him as he rips his hand from Valentino’s hold. It’s embarrassment and hurt, mixed together, and if there’s one thing Jorge wishes for, it’s to disappear from the surface of this planet.

It’s not the reaction he expected. At all. 

Valentino seems to realise his mistake as the laughing subsides, making way for a grin that’s only a bit better in Jorge’s opinion. “If only you said so right after you got out of the hospital, we could’ve spent those ten days together, you know” Valentino says, catching Jorge’s hand again. “I could’ve given you some private care.”

Jorge looks at him with disbelief. “Are you serious?”

He looks for the joke, the laughter having thrown him off before, but it doesn’t come. Valentino places a hand on Jorge’s knee, forcing Jorge’s breathing to speed up and his heart to pick up the rhythm. 

“I am,” Valentino confirms, leaning closer, their faces barely apart now. “I’ve liked you for a while, but I couldn’t exactly tell you that. My bosses wouldn’t have been happy.”

If not for the hand on his knee, Jorge would’ve possibly jumped out of joy. 

He doesn’t do that, but he does something he thinks they both might enjoy more. The kiss is gentle at first, and it is evident that Valentino is extra careful not to injure Jorge’s hand further until Jorge pulls him closer with the good arm. It could’ve been a minute or it could’ve been five, but neither of them cares enough because it feels too good. Jorge lets his mouth fall open, something Valentino takes advantage of immediately, and he almost regrets wasting those ten days, but Valentino is pretty good at making up for it. 

“But now-,” Valentino continues his previous thought after they have pulled apart, still hardly any space left between them; Jorge can feel him smiling against his lips. “Now I can officially say that you are my favourite.”

Jorge grins, not bothering to hide the smugness. “I knew it.”

Valentino chuckles, the noises falling from his throat freely. Jorge likes the sound of it. And he also likes how the _favourite_ spoken in Valentino’s voice sounds, too.

**Author's Note:**

> I know that's all I've been saying lately, but I genuinely feel bad for my lack of activity here on ao3, so I apologise for that again. The only excuse I have is not being in the right mindset, but I'm trying to work on that, so I hope you can forgive me for the time being.
> 
> I also know that I've been super late to thank you for all the comments and kudos and hits and everything really, but please know that I appreciate every single one of you and it means the world to me.  
> And, as always, thank you for reading <3


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